The Seventh Year
by lauramariadavis
Summary: Before Ron and Harry can become Aurors they must complete their NEWTs, so the Golden Trio return to Hogwarts just a few months after the war. Harry had assumed those who fought wouldn't return, so he is shocked when he discovers a former enemy is amongst the returnees. He begins to question why it is Draco Malfoy never turned him into Voldemort when he had the chance...


Harry has always loved September 1st more than most, as that has always been the day he got to escape the Dursleys until the following summer. On that date he got to cross the magical barrier onto platform 9 ¾ and get on the scarlet steam train, see his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger again and go off to his favourite place on Earth – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

This is the first time he's dreaded going back.

He had woken hours earlier, and aforementioned dread prevented him from falling asleep. Ron snoring loudly from the bed beside his own was not much help, either. He had laid there contemplating the year ahead, wondering where their summer had gone. Usually the two months they are given off school drag by, but for the first time in his life he got to spend it away from the Dursleys. He wouldn't have called it fun, exactly. The Wizarding World is only just starting to properly rebuild itself, and Harry would be lying if he said the summer had been anything but depressing. The deaths from the war have taken their toll on everyone, and whether it's during a half-hearted game of Quidditch in the garden or a sombre suppertime, Fred's absence hangs over them, smothering the usual chirpy liveliness of the Weasley household. Harry barely sees George, who has now moved into the flat above the joke shop. He wants to be left alone, something that adds to Mrs Weasley's long list of worries along with her grief.

Despite the gloomy atmosphere, Harry has found solace in been able to hide from the rest of the Wizarding World. If people are not grieving then they're doing something worse – _celebrating_. Those are the people who played no actual part in the war, the avid readers of _the Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ who regard Harry as nothing less but the supreme hero of their kind. It is no secret that he has never really enjoyed his fame, but to see these people so happy… He feels like he is drowning, like a Dementor is constantly hovering behind him; and he knows every single person he cares about feels the same way. He can't pretend to be pleased – because he's _not_ , yet despite his lack of care for keeping up appearances beforehand he knows that he has to with this. That's precisely why he's so scared to go back to school.

A quiet knock at the door startles him from his thoughts, and a moment later it creeps open. Ginny pokes her head through the gap, her red hair glowing from the sudden burst of light. Harry squeezes his eyes shut from the sudden brightness until the burn of it lessens.

'I wasn't sure if you'd be awake, Mum says it's time to get up…' she turns to Ron. 'Wake that lazy git, would you?'

Harry nods, and with a sombre smile she closes the door once more. He gets up and shoves the tattered Chudley Cannons curtains open, sighing as he catches sight of the greyish clouds shrouding the morning sky. A bit of sun may have made this slightly more bearable, at the least. Ron it still snoring quite soundly – it takes a quick _aguamenti_ to wake him. He rolls off the bed so suddenly he crashes to the floor, spluttering as he wipes the water from his face.

'What'd you do that for?' He growls.

'I might not want to go back, but I'm not missing the train because you can't get your arse out of bed,' Harry replies, ignoring the dirty look Ron's shooting him as he searches for some muggle clothes. He goes for a grey t-shirt and faded baggy jeans, caring less about how he looks now than he ever did before. Once he's clothed he takes a quick trip to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then heads downstairs, leaving Ron grumbling and stumbling as he gets ready himself.

'Good morning, Harry,' Mrs Weasley calls from where she's stood at the stove, frying thick slices of smokey bacon. Despite his lack of an appetite his mouth begins to water. Mrs Weasley's cooking has always been a weakness of his. Ginny and Hermione are already fully dressed and tucking into their sandwiches, engaging in small talk that Harry doesn't bother trying to join. He takes a seat and thanks the hovering pot for pouring him his usual tea into an old, chipped ministry mug. He scowls at the offensive M-shaped emblem and adds a slight drop of milk. It's too hot when he sips it, but he can't bring himself to care. He needs the caffeine right now.

When he's halfway through his sandwich Ron finally tropes down the stairs; his eyes squint against the harsh white of the clouded daylight as he mumbles a response to his mother's quip about being a lazy sod. He takes a seat beside Harry and pours himself some orange juice before taking a hearty bite from his own – presumably half-cold – food.

'D'you think everyone'll go back?' he asks through his mouthful of food, earning him a glare from Hermione that both he and Harry ignore.

'Dunno,' Harry shrugs, gazing into the depths of his tea; 'people involved with the war probably won't, unless they're like us.'

'Fancy it,' Ron huffs disbelievingly, 'you just killed the most dangerous wizard to ever live, but _sorry, Potter, you can't be an Auror without your NEWTS!_ It's ridiculous!'

'It'll do you some good to get them!' Mrs Weasley replies, placing a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, 'You never know, you might realize it's not for you.'

She has been hinting at this ever since Harry and Ron told them of their plans to join up. They know that it's because she's afraid of losing anyone else, and partly because she wants them to at least try and enjoy whatever childhood they have left… But Harry doesn't feel like a child anymore, and as much as Hogwarts will always feel like home he agrees with Ron. Forcing them into finishing their NEWTS after being on the front line of the war is ridiculous. What time they're wasting at school they could be using to round up the escapees, not brewing some useless potions and perfecting charms they've known for years.

After breakfast they round up the last of their things and traipse their luggage down to Mr Weasley, who packs everything into the boot of the car. Ginny puts herself in the front whilst Hermione, Ron and Harry sit in the back. Crookshanks snores lightly from where he's curled up on Hermione's lap whilst Pigwidgeon throws himself repeatedly against the bars of his cage. Harry sits petless, and mourns the loss of Hedwig throughout the journey to Kings Cross.

As they approach the barrier to 9 ¾ he begins to feel sick as anxiety takes hold of him. It's been a long time since he's stepped out of the Burrow's vicinity, and the first trip out is to go back to the place the war had happened. He had stayed out of the rebuild, knowing that the purebloods that had weaselled out of a sentence to Azkaban would be all over it – and they are the last bunch of people he wants to have to work with. Rather the opposite, actually. They are part of the reason he wants to be an Auror so badly. He has seen from the newspapers what a good job they'd done restoring the castle as an apology for their wrongdoings. Draco Malfoy was at the front of the lot, smirking slimily, making Harry regret ever testifying on his behalf.

The station is in as much havoc as usual on September 1st. Harry is surprised the muggles haven't labelled this date as some sort of weird phenomenon, considering that on this day each year a bunch of funny looking people with owls, cloaks and other strange adornments wander through the place, occasionally asking the befuddled workers where they can find platform 9 ¾. He remembers doing just that as a child, which is exactly how he had met a good portion of the lot he's with now. They finally get to the barrier, and dread twists Harry's stomach in knots. He wishes he'd prepared some Polyjuice potion; he would give anything to be anyone but himself today.

Though, he realizes with a swell of relief, it's not as bad as he had anticipated. First years point to him in awe as he passes by, tugging on their parents or siblings sleeves to exclaim ' _Look, it's Harry Potter,_ ' but the press seem to have steered clear, and no one approaches him to ask for exciting encounters or anything. They stop near the least crowded coach door, and Mrs Weasley turns to them as Mr Weasley helps a rope-y looking attendee get their trunks onto the train.

'Have a good year, Ginny, dear,' she says, holding her daughter in a tight embrace. Harry's throat clenches as he sees so many parents doing the same, reminded of how his mother had looked at him as he held the resurrection stone – knowing that she wanted to do exactly this. He'll never know what that feels like. He may have won the war, but his parents are still gone. Killing Voldemort never brought them back. That kind of magic cannot be undone by the caster's death. When Harry comes to, Mrs Weasley is throwing her arms around him, and he hugs her back – feeling grateful that he has the Weasleys and Hermione, at least.

'Goodbye, Mrs Weasley,' He murmurs, 'Thank you for having me.'

'It's no problem, dear. No problem at all!' she pulls back to offer him a tearful smile, cupping his cheek as she says, 'You will always be welcome in our home.'

With five minutes left to board, the four of them clamber onto the train and wave their goodbyes from the window of the carriage they claim as their own. Harry settles himself into a window seat and watches as the train pulls out of the station, electing to gaze at the plumes of smoke the train emits rather than the ogling parents and too-young or too-old siblings that remain at the station. For a while they speed by the central muggle London homes, and for that time their carriage is peacefully quiet. Hermione buries her nose in a book, blushing when Ron winds his arm around her waist as he gives some leftover Bertie Botts beans to Pig. Ginny leaves shortly after to go find Luna and Neville, who she had seen in a carriage further down the hall, and when she's left Harry sprawls himself across the three chairs on his side and falls into an uncomfortable sleep.

He is awakened by the trolly lady shouting: 'Anything from the trolly?' he hadn't managed to finish his breakfast, so he gets them some pumpkin pasties, liquorice wands, chocolate frogs and pumpkin juice, refusing to let Ron or Hermione pay all the while. Ron looks secretly pleased, yet equally unhappy, and Hermione complains about it for a good half hour before they notice Crookshanks is trying to get at Pig, who hoots fearfully at the half-kneazle devil cat. This flares an argument between Ron and Hermione, and Harry excuses himself. He takes some pumpkin juice and his pasty with him and walks the scale of the train until he has to accept there are no empty carriages. When he does that he sinks to the corridor floor and finishes his food there.

He's not sure how much time he spends sat there, but when he returns Neville, Ginny and Luna are in his seats, all dressed in their robes whilst they watch Neville and Ron play a game of exploding snap. Hermione scolds him for being gone for so long and sends him to the carriage Luna and Neville had been in to get changed. Seamus and Dean are there with a couple of the sixth year Gryffindor boys.

'Harry!' Seamus calls enthusiastically, patting him on the back, 'Good to see ya!'

'You too,' Harry lies, 'how was your summer?'

Seamus launches into a long, dramatic explanation of his summer, just as Harry knew he would. Whilst he offers an occasional response he changes into his robes, and waits until Seamus has gone off-topic to leave again. Dean offers him a sympathetic smile as he goes – he must have caught onto just how much Harry doesn't want to be here. He begins feeling frustrated as he stalks back to his carriage, wanting the journey and welcome feast and what not to just be out of the way so he can hide in his dorm until he decides to leave… Which will be tomorrow morning for lessons, because McGonagall's headmistress now and if he starts skipping she'll know about it. He doubts she'll punish him, but he doesn't want to alert her to his feelings on coming back to school. He's worried it will disappoint her, and that would be worse than having her be mad at him.

'I'm glad you decided to come back, Harry,' Luna says, peeking her nose out from her copy of the Quibbler, 'Some people were saying you might be too depressed. You seem it, though it's a good sign it hasn't stopped you from doing things.'

'Thanks, Luna,' he mutters, feeling his cheeks redden as every pair of eyes in the carriage land on him; but they don't question him on it, which he's relieved about. He elects to go back to sleep, and the next time he wakes up it's because Ginny is shaking his shoulder, telling him that they're pulling into Hogsmeade. Harry perks up a little at this, realising that he'll get to see Hagrid. They've owled over the summer months, but he hasn't actually seen him since the war.

'Hullo, you lot!' He chortles as Harry throws himself into Hagrid's arms, 'bloody 'ell, Harry. Y'alright?'

'I missed you,' he wheezes as Hagrid's grip tightens at those words. When they pull apart he gasps for breath, and Hagrid offers him a watery smile.

'Am pleased yer back, Harry! I wasn' so sure…' he sees the look on Harry's face and quickly turns his words around. 'Well, 'ere yer are! Off ter the castle wi' yous! Come visit when yer can! I gotta tend to the firs' years!'

Now they're off the train Harry's presence seems to be drawing more and more attention, so Hermione grabs him by the arm and pushes them into the closest thestral-drawn carriage to the castle.

'I'd thought you mental,' Hermione murmurs, 'but they're oddly beautiful.'

For a moment Harry doesn't quite get what she's talking about, until he notices her along with a number of students he recognizes from last year gazing at where the thestrals are. A pang of grief floods through him as he sees just how many Hogwarts students are seeing the creatures for the first time – creatures you can only see when you have witnessed death. It's humbling, almost, to be reminded that he is not the only one that has suffered – yet at the same time he has to hold his breath, for if he doesn't he's afraid he'll start to cry.

When they pull to a stand-still, Harry takes a minute to compose himself; yet as soon as he steps out of the carriage a house elf is at his feet, tugging at his cloak to gain his attention.

'Mr Potter, sir? Zookey has been told to ask Harry Potter to meet Headmistress McGonagall after the welcome feast in her office. Professor Dumbledore's preferred sweet is important, she also told Zookey to say.'

'Thanks,' he mumbles, feeling the opposite of thankful entirely. There goes his wish to sneak into bed early. McGonagall will be one of the last out of the bloody hall, so now he'll have to wait – and everyone will be in the common room before he can get to bed in peace. Damn it all. Damn it all to hell.

'I want to go to bed,' he murmurs to Ginny as they make their way up the stone steps leading to the main body of the castle – where the Great Hall awaits them. She takes his hand in hers and gives it a soft squeeze.

'You can do this, Harry. I know you can. People aren't going to hate you if you show them how you really feel about all this though. You do know that, don't you?'

He doesn't respond, and he hears her sigh. It's the sigh she gives when she knows their conversation is a lost cause – something that's been happening a lot, lately. Harry knows Ginny understands better than anyone. Not too long ago Voldemort had possessed her through the diary-turned-horcrux, and yet her understanding his situation is not actually helping him feel better at all. If anything it makes him feel worse, because no one should have had to go through what they've been through. _No one_.

She releases his hand when they arrive and heads off to sit with a squabble of boys and girls from her own year. Harry plonks himself down in an empty seat on the long bench and tries to look somewhat happy, though from the sympathetic look Hermione sends him he doubts it's working. He's almost pleased when the new lot of first years troop in, glancing around warily and trying not to trip over their too-big robes. He turns to the front, and feels a slight swell of pride yet a pang of remorse as he sees McGonagall rise to her place on the golden podium.

'Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts, for many of you – and welcome, our new first years. We will commence with the sorting, have dinner and then head off to our dormitories. You will need to be well-rested for your first day of lessons, tomorrow. Before we begin may I remind each of you to stay out of the forbidden forest, no matter the circumstance! Thank you.'

Short, to the point and nothing like the speeches Dumbledore gave – and yet he finds himself grateful for that, right now. Despite missing the ex-headmaster he cannot pretend that he hasn't spent some of his summer cursing how he handled certain aspects of the war, especially in regards to himself. Flitwick appears to be the deputy, replacing McGonagall now she is Headmistress. But being the size that he is it's difficult for him to place the hat on the students' heads, so it hovers lightly above the chair, and Harry assumes he's using _Wingardium Leviosa_ to keep it there. He pays no attention to the sorting, not feeling bad even when he ignores the new Gryffindors trying to catch his attention. How exciting it must be for them to be in a house with the Wizarding World's ultimate hero! He feels sick, and its bad timing because shortly after dinner is served. He forces himself to eat a couple of sausages with mash and Yorkshire puddings, dousing the lot in a thick helping of gravy and washing it down with some Butterbeer. He is too full for dessert, but decides to pick at the pastry of the treacle tart Hermione has left behind. She seems displeased with this, but she doesn't say anything to stop him.

When dinnertime is over Ron and Hermione, as prefects, have to take the first years to the dormitories. He says a quick farewell to them and sneaks off for a while, hiding away in the second floor's boys toilets until he thinks it's a suitable time to try McGonagall's office. He takes the stairs to the third floor two at a time and heads to the gargoyle corridor, stopping by the staircase's entrance.

'Sherbet lemons,' he mutters, and the staircase begins to ascend. He leaps onto a step and steadies himself, not having the energy to wait and climb them all once it's finished. He knocks three times, entering when he hears McGonagall call for him to do so.

She is sat in Dumbledore's— _her_ chair, wearing a deep set of purple robes and a pointed hat to match. Her hair is slightly more dishevelled from earlier in the Great Hall, as though she has been attempting to run her hands through it. Harry finds himself wondering if she is still suffering from any after-effects of the war, and how she manages to run a school if she is.

'Come, Potter. Take a seat. I won't keep you long.'

He does as she asks, crossing the length of the room and sitting before her desk. It's much neater than Dumbledore had kept it. Not a quill, wax seal stamp or piece of parchment is out of place, and the stand that once housed Fawkes is long gone.

'I assumed this would be the last thing you would want, tonight of all nights,' she begins, 'but I wanted to see you before school began. I have kept in contact with the Weasleys-' Harry frowns at this, aware that McGonagall demands an air of respect yet feeling betrayed by this, '-and they explained you haven't been yourself. Of course, after everything I would consider this normal – but I wanted you to know that if you ever need to speak with me, about anything, my office is always open.'

'Thank you,' he says, his voice strained. He wants to say so much more than that, but he is too exhausted; experiencing that slight bout of anger has him feeling worse, 'I appreciate it.'

'There is one more thing…' She says, fixing the position of her glasses as they slip down her nose, 'as Headmistress I must choose a head boy and girl. Naturally I have already asked Miss Granger, who was more than happy to be head girl, but I wanted to offer you the position as head boy in person-'

'I can't,' Harry says, feeling his cheeks go red as he instantly regrets interrupting her. She looks alarmed at the vehement refusal. 'I'm sorry, Professor. I can't.'

'Very well,' she replies, attempting to mask how deflated this makes her. 'I apologize for keeping you, Mr Potter. Sleep well.'

'Thank you,' he murmurs, before adding: 'you too.'

He almost laughs as he leaves. Sleep well. He hasn't slept well since… Since… Well, he can't even _remember_. When you've battled to the death with the most evil and powerful dark wizard to have ever lived, and been on the very brink of death, it's hard to sleep without waking from vivid, technicolour nightmares. Each night he watches Fred die _again_ , experiences death himself _again_ , wakes shoving his head into a pillow to mask the screams as those blood red eyes hover over him, ghostly-lips turned into a grin as he casts _crucio_ again and again and _again_. Because he didn't just fight Voldemort once, and even years later he still dreams of their first meeting in the graveyard… And Cedric…

Tears sting his eyes, so he stops just outside the common room and composes himself once more. The Fat Lady pretends she's not watching him, though he can see her glancing up from the book she's reading through the corner of his eyes. Frustrated by this, he snappily gives her the password and with an offended huff she opens up.

About half of Gryffindor house hover around the common room, and he gets the distinct feeling it's because they wanted to see him. Funny, also, that no one person from the war is actually there. The first years ogle from the cushions by the fire, whilst Hermione scolds them irritably for not listening to her demands for them to go to bed. Now they've seen Harry, though, they begin to make their way up, whispering all the while. The rest are a handful of second, third, fourth, fifth and sixth years, all of who were not allowed to stay back during the war – a rule Ginny had elected to ignore.

'Alright,' Hermione growls, gathering their attention, 'As head girl, I demand you get to your dormitories right now. Harry doesn't need you all gawping or trying to ask any questions. We've just been through _war_ , and it was nothing like what the Prophet, Witch Weekly or any other stupid reporter said it was. So, I suggest you head to your beds before I fetch the Headmistress.'

The Gryffindors are not impressed by Hermione's threat, though Harry knows by now that she is not here to be liked by everyone. It's something he likes about her most. They troop off to their respective dorms, and once everyone's gone Harry offers her a tired smile.

'Thanks, 'Mione.'

'It's fine,' she says, giving him a look of understanding. A moment later her arms are around him, and he hugs her back. He feels bad for not speaking to her about any of it. She's almost like a sister to him, after all, and he knows that she can read him like a book. But it doesn't feel right… He's tried talking before, and as much as you think it'll make the despair go away at the time it's only a temporary relief.

He climbs the stairs to the seventh year dorm and makes his way in. Seamus, Dean and Ron are already asleep, whilst Neville sits up with his mimbulus mimbletonia on his lap, gazing at it as though his thoughts are elsewhere. Harry feels as though he should ask Neville what's wrong, but he doesn't have it in him. Instead, he pulls out his pyjamas and climbs into bed.


End file.
